


Jade

by murakistags



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Mention of Cannibalism, Murder Husbands, Post-Season/Series 03, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8009755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakistags/pseuds/murakistags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is a present for you, Will. From me. A…little something, just because.”</p><p>Shameless Hannigram romantic fluff involving a spontaneous present.</p><p>Also because this is a gift from me to my dearest bab ArgusJade, to welcome her to AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArgusJade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgusJade/gifts).



> This has not been beta-read. Mistakes are my own, and I apologize for them.
> 
> Bon appétit.

The color of Will's eyes is a shade exactly halfway between turquoise and sapphire. Or so Hannibal had mentally noted. Dr. Hannibal Lecter's artistic craftsmanship may most often be in tones of black charcoal and graphite upon white paper, but what he sees is far from so monochrome. His Memory Palace is vast and in vivid, brilliant colors of the rainbow, all reflective and deliciously rich.

The hall of Hannibal's Memory Palace which holds the body of Will Graham is one particularly bright, but the main hues are only those of blue and green. Blues for the water and the wind, the fish, the calmness and the deeper shades of his irises. Greens for the lushness of trees and grass, the spring zeal of rebirth, and the lighter shades of his irises. Together they drip into a viscous lather, creating the most beautiful pair of eyes Hannibal thinks he's ever seen in his life. They hold such madness in the green cracks, flecks of completely understanding in the blue glassiness, and when all the shade of those eyes are focused on Hannibal, the doctor himself feels as though he is being christened.

At first, it was such a rare feat indeed to make and maintain any semblance of eye contact with the ever-elusive Will Graham. His line of sight danced around like a spry teenaged woman of the eighteenth century, coy and beautiful but uncertain in a way. Will had become, and Hannibal had witnessed most every delicate step of it. Now that gaze is far from hiding or in need of a shield, particularly when it is so laser-like, able to delve deeper into Hannibal's skin than any other before. When sharpened enough, stones of turquoise and gems of sapphire can be indeed quite sharp and dangerous, and all the more beautiful because of it, along with it.

Jade. The color choice had been so easy, immediately simple. In his mind, the color wheel spins with efficacy, but where the pointer lands is not at all where Hannibal finds his interest. It is in the colors more eclectic and less commonplace. Jade is one of them. It is a hue mixed with blues and greens to create the perfect mellow shade very much reminiscent of Will Graham.

Jade has been used for centuries, in the form of weapons, jewelry, trinkets and more. As Hannibal is also aware, the influence of the luxurious stone spreads along Eastern Asia, Central Europe, and far more places than even he could imagine.

The beauty of the jade stone is undeniable and breathtaking. Just as the beauty of one Will Graham in the eyes of Hannibal Lecter.

It was pure infatuation that led to the purchase of the gift. No birthday is in sight, no holidays celebrated in either of their cultures, nor those of the local lands. It is merely a singular point in the lull of middle-year, where the days stretch on long and the lament of summer's end creeps up just as the fast-approaching autumn breeze can combat it. Sunsets and dawns mend together and Hannibal only peels them apart in reverent appreciation because of the empath at his side. This is why a little something is needed, he reassures himself while not sparing a second thought for just how much money he drops at the tip of a hat for the purchase.

It is one night after dinner of braised ‘beef’ heart– the food is people– that Hannibal broaches the topic. Always a man of punctuality and surety, he is certainly feeling uncharacteristically hesitant to offer the gift at all. That alone is a testament to how much Will means to him, how much he aims to please the younger man in any way possible. Hopefully, this will indeed please him.

Adjourning with the promise of fetching whiskey ends with Will at first protesting when he instead sees Hannibal walks back into the den with a small black box in hand. The smooth edges and svelte midnight material reflects the corners of Hannibal's smile, the accents in his tie and his maroon-flecked eyes. But the gift inside no doubt reflects something entirely equal and opposite.

“That…doesn't look like whiskey,” Will states the obvious, a curious look upon his face, a lilt to his voice.

Hannibal matches the moment with a pleasant hum, holding the box with careful hands as he takes his usual seat right beside Will. The outside of their thighs brush and warm one another on the couch, a certain comfort in the warm evening air.

“You will have your drink soon,” Hannibal counters, an unmistakably moist glint to his eyes when he looks at the other man beside him. “This is a present for you, Will. From me. A…little something, just because.”

There is love there, unspoken but felt. It melts between them like honey, sweet and languid as they take ample time to look into one another's eyes. For a second it is as if they are upon the cliff again, nuzzling in bloody and adrenaline-fueled embrace just before the plummet. The air certainly feels as charged as it once did in that particular moment.

“A present?” Will sounds decidedly disbelieving, yet he can't deny the pleasant tingle of anticipation in his veins when he accepts the box with care.

Peeling open a black ribbon of silk from the top, Will murmurs something barely audible or coherent, and along the lines of ‘this was unexpected.’ Hannibal offers only silence by way of reply, content to sit still and watch Will unravel his present, watch the flicker of expressions that dance so endearingly across the panes of that scraggly-haired face.

“…Huh? What is…–?”

Will is about to ask, but when he finally opens it all the way, he has no need. Trailing off into silence, the empath is struck by the importance of the object, so simple and yet so brilliant and emotional at once. It makes his turquoise-sapphire eyes twinkle with an unmistakable sheen. With a reverent slowness, Will eases the present from its black suede bedding.

It is a blade, a knife, carved and not very new, but bearing the dignified air of battle and blood of lives past. The blade's handle is of silver, cut in smooth corners, embellished with engraved designs of chaotic curls, and inset with a jade dragon whose scaly body twists and turns with mouth at the hilt of blade, tail fanning at the end of handle. In Will's hands, the weapon is heavy and looks so strikingly beautiful in the dim light of the den. In Hannibal's view, the weapon is airy and light, and looks so shrinking beautiful in the bright reflections of Will's eyes.

When Hannibal remembers to exhale and breathe again, he repeats mentally to himself that there is no reason to be shy of this and that is he most definitely not second-guessing himself. That would be unacceptable. But now Will is taking a very long time to admire the blade without a single word and a hard-to-read expression, and Hannibal begins to worry his tongue between teeth of his closed mouth. He's just about to break the silence and inquire if Will likes the gift when Will himself takes the lead just as abruptly.

“It's beautiful, Hannibal,” that low voice sounds, so very sincere and dulcet. It warms Hannibal to the core. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” Hannibal says, voice level but quieter than usual, as if more than a whisper will shatter the moment to bits.

There's only a moment of pause in which Will turns over the blade in his hand, makes a show of measuring the weight of it, and looks up again with a crooked smile and touched tears in his eyes, amusement and pride in his tone.

“Ding-dong, the dragon's dead.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments. They inspire me and make me smile.
> 
> Please consider [buying me a coffee for a fic](https://ko-fi.com/murakistags)!


End file.
